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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750298">five moments from Zuko's first few months in the Southern Water Tribe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi'>dottie_wan_kenobi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ATLA Fics [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Angst, No Plot/Plotless, POV Zuko (Avatar), Pre-Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Pre-Relationship, Time Skips, adjusted timeline - they're aged up 2 years, minor grieving, zuko in the southern water tribe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This will help you,” a woman says, handing Prince Zuko a cup of foul-smelling soup. She doesn’t smile at him—no one is—but the look on her sun-worn face is earnest enough, her eyes almost encouraging. Zuko doesn’t trust encouragement.</p><p>“What is in this,” he demands, giving a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare. “Are you trying to poison me?”</p><p>“It’s shark-squid soup,” she tells him. Her voice is calm even though the entire village is standing around, staring at them. It’s unnerving, even without the only other man around pointing a sharp bone spear in his face.</p><p>--<br/>Zuko falls off his ship and washes up on the ice of the Southern Water Tribe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katara &amp; Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ATLA Fics [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>five moments from Zuko's first few months in the Southern Water Tribe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Uhh hi, this is 1) unbetad even just by myself and 2) the first thing to come easily to me after WEEKS of being in a writing rut. I'm not questioning it I'm just posting it. there's no real plot to this,,, however it would lead into canon eventually</p><p>Additional warnings: I wasn't sure how to word this in a tag but there's a scene where Zuko and Katara see the bodies of some of the Southern Raiders. they aren't described in much detail, however they are there.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This will help you,” a woman says, handing Prince Zuko a cup of foul-smelling soup. She doesn’t smile at him—no one is—but the look on her sun-worn face is earnest enough, her eyes almost encouraging. Zuko doesn’t trust encouragement.</p><p>“What is in this,” he demands, giving a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare. “Are you trying to poison me?”</p><p>“It’s shark-squid soup,” she tells him. Her voice is calm even though the entire village is standing around, staring at them. It’s unnerving, even without the only other man around pointing a sharp bone spear in his face. “It will warm you from the insides, get rid of that shiver you have.”</p><p>Zuko doesn’t know what shark-squid soup is but he will not be taking any chances. It could be poisonous. Who wouldn’t want to kill the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation? Scowling, he thrusts the bowl at the pathetic excuse of a warrior. Not his first choice of a taste tester, but at least this way if it is meant to kill him, he can take out this guy too. “Prove it.”</p><p>Offense rolls through the older members of the tribe. The children don’t understand, and a few giggle in confusion. It’s not their reactions that catch Zuko’s attention, however, but the healer’s. He hasn’t bothered to remember her name—though, he thinks defensively even before the voice of Uncle Iroh can chime in to tell him he’s being rude, it’s not his fault. His head is full of smog and has been for… however long it is that he’s been here. Keeping track of days is hard when you’re slipping in and out of a hypothermia-related coma. </p><p>“If we wanted to kill you,” she seethes, stomping towards them. The woman leans away, but otherwise neither of them have much of a reaction to her rage. Zuko himself feels like he should get away from her immediately—angry women are, in his experience, something one avoids at all costs—but he’s a prince, dammit. And she’s a peasant. He will not be cowed by her. Even if she is scary when she continues, “then we would’ve left you to drown. Or freeze to death. Or be eaten by the tiger-seals. We’re not going to poison you, you insufferable idiot! Eat your soup!”</p><p>This is not the first time the healer has yelled at him. Or even the first time they’ve had an argument about him consuming the liquids she’s tried to force down his throat. Looking her right in the eye, he says, “Not until one of you peasants proves it.”</p><p>The warrior lets out a world-weary sigh and reaches out for the spoon. Zuko tries to push the bowl into his hands too but he doesn’t take it. To the healer, he says, “Let’s just get this over with…,” and then slurps down a spoonful easily. He smacks his lips when he’s done, and puts the spoon back into the murky bowl, which makes Zuko internally recoil in horror. <em>Rude</em>, screams the part of him that was raised on proper manners and etiquette. <em>Disgusting</em>, screams the part of him that has never had to share utensils before, much less with some Southern Water Tribe stranger. </p><p>He opens his mouth to say something about it but—the healer is glaring at him so hard she’s going to burn right through him. His teeth click as he reconsiders. They probably don’t even have any other spoons anyway. Scowling ferociously, he looks down at the soup. They wouldn’t risk their only man like that, so it’s probably fine. Hopefully. And he didn’t think it was too gross, even though it smells completely foreign to Zuko, and not in a good way.</p><p>With all the dignity he can muster, he lifts the spoon to his mouth and silently sips the soup.</p><p>Then he starts hacking it up. Around him, what seems like everyone laughs as his eyes tear up and the bowl tips over in his lap. Even the first woman laughs as she rejoins the group. It’s not the camaraderie from his ship, and it’s far worse than the suspicious, angry looks he’s been getting since he first woke up here.</p><p>The healer, grinning like it’s against her better judgment to do so, shakes her head. Stepping closer, she takes the bowl from him and uses waterbending to dry his pants. He’s already been strongly informed by her that she will not hesitate to use her bending on him if she feels he’s a threat to their tiny little village. Mostly she’s been healing him with it, but there’s still a prickle in the back of his mind that he should be wary of it, of her.</p><p>Wanting to turn his mind away from those thoughts, he grabs her wrist. The stupid mittens she forced on him feel slippery against the fabric of her parka, but he holds on. “You—that was—hhhnk—what was that?” He coughs out, furious. </p><p>“Sea prunes,” she tells him sharply, wrenching her wrist away. “They’re not usually in shark-squid soup but Lokara couldn’t help it. Everyone wanted to see how you’d react.”</p><p>“You were going to let them p-poison me,” he accuses. “Some healer you are.”</p><p>“It won’t kill you,” she hisses back, clearly offended. Huffing, she turns around to the big communal pot which sits over the un-lit fire pit. When she dragged him out here, there’d been people grabbing their own servings but now it’s just him in the middle, the healer and the warrior standing over him. She turns back and thrusts the bowl at him; he scrambles to catch it, not wanting it to spill again. “Now shut up and eat it. If you waste any more, you’ll have to go hungry.”</p><p>With one final, flaming glare, she leaves him to the tender mercies of the warrior and the eyes of (almost) the entire village still trained right on him.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” says the warrior. He sounds chipper, but the spear doesn’t lower. He’s been sitting and standing and hovering beside Zuko even while he was unconscious. Whatever he doesn’t want Zuko worrying about is something Zuko is <em>absolutely going to worry about</em>. “There’s no prunes in that one. We slipped them in your first bowl special.”</p><p>It’s not the first time Zuko wishes he’d just drowned, nor is it the last. But the thought does fade after a few spoonfuls, which are blessedly almost tolerable. </p><hr/><p>The healer’s name is Katara. He learns it again that night as he’s laid back in the soft but suffocating furs in what he assumes is the healing igloo. It’s spacious enough, sparsely decorated, with trunks on the opposite side of where he sleeps. The warrior—Sock or something—has his own pallet of blankets halfway between the trunks and the entrance. Katara’s furs are more towards the middle of the floor, closer to Zuko’s than to the warrior’s. Still, there’s not nearly enough privacy or room for his taste. He’s never had to share a room, much less with strangers. Strangers who talk non-stop.</p><p>“Katara,” the warrior hisses as they all get into bed. Apparently they don’t care that it’s still light outside and clearly a time to be awake. “Get over here.”</p><p>“No,” she replies in the same tone. “I need to be close in case he needs my help in the night. You know that, Sokka. And not just because I have to keep telling you.”</p><p>“He’s Fire Nation! Who knows what he’ll do to you if he catches you unaware and vulnerable!”</p><p>Privately, Zuko thinks it’s far more likely the other way around. He still isn’t sure what exactly happened—he can sort of remember being on his ship, and being thrown overboard into the freezing water, and later blinking up at the ceiling of the igloo with the healer’s face peering down at him. He only woke up for any significant amount of time yesterday morning. She gave him a run down of the past few days—most of which he’s spent sleeping and shivering, apparently—and it all sounds a lot like <em>her</em> catching <em>him</em> unaware and vulnerable. </p><p>And anyway, he thinks with a silent scoff. He would never do anything untoward—and not just because she’s a peasant, or because she’s kept him alive. But clearly these people know nothing of honor.</p><p>She doesn’t react immediately, which makes him think she’s rolling her eyes at the warrior. “If he tries anything, I can protect myself.”</p><p>After a moment, he relents. “Fine. You have your knife?” Zuko hears a shifting noise, and the warrior continues, “Good. I know it won’t be the first time you’ve had to use it but tomorrow, I think we should practice with it, okay?”</p><p>Katara yawns, and Zuko forces himself not to copy her. It’s light outside still, he’s <em>not</em> tired, no matter what his body seems to think. “Okay, Sokka. Now go to sleep.”</p><p>He grumbles but they both quiet down. Zuko listens as their breathing evens out, and dares a peek, finding them both shut-eyed and lightly snoring. He should try and escape. He should slip away while he can. He should get back to Uncle, who is surely panicking and searching for him. He wants to go, wants to leave and never come back to this horrible place where everything is different from what he knows and how it should be. But he has no idea how he’d get away, and with a waterbender around, he wouldn’t be able to go very far anyway.</p><p>It’s okay, he consoles himself. He’ll have another chance eventually, and when it comes, he’ll be more aware of his options, better prepared to fight off the healer and the warrior. His eyes grow heavy despite the sun, and eventually, he sleeps.</p><hr/><p>A few days later, he asks, “Am I the first person to wash up here?”</p><p>Katara doesn’t pause the stitching she’s doing. An older woman had told her having a patient didn’t mean she was exempt from chores, and now they’re sitting by the fire. He has nothing to do, and no one speaks to him except for Katara and Sokka. Avoiding the sideways looks from the women on the other side of the fire, he sniffles and stokes the fire a bit. It’s not nearly warm enough to his standard but everyone melts the tiniest amount, shuffling closer.</p><p>“No,” Katara finally says.</p><p>“What happened to the others? Did they get to go home?” He can’t help that he sounds bitter. Though, really, he’s sure none of them care about that. They want him gone too.<br/>“They were all already gone. We laid them to rest a few miles out.”</p><p>Zuko frowns. Not only because the traditions of the Southern Water Tribe were still surprising him—laid to rest? What did that mean? He knew the Earth Kingdom buried their dead, but they probably couldn’t dig into the ice here—but also because, “I’m the only one who survived?”</p><p>He hasn’t had to ask where the men are. They’re at war. What’s left are the women and children, the elderly and Sokka. A shiver rolls down his back as he realizes, suddenly, how isolated and alone he—and this entire place—is. He wants, more than anything, to go home. To be back on his ship. Anywhere but here.</p><p>“Am I the first Fire Nation citizen?” He has to ask, has to know. If she says no, then he’s going to ask to visit this resting place. His people deserve a proper send off, blessed by Agni and cremated. He’s not exactly an expert in funeral rites, but he knows better than any Water Tribe person could.</p><p>“No,” she answers, and doesn’t allow him a second to ask before she goes on, “Far from it.”</p><p>Something about her tone warns him he should shut up. Just, stop talking, change the subject, do not pursue this further. It was an instinct that saved him grief from Azula, once upon a time. But the thought of getting to see some of his own citizens, even if they’re long dead, has him aching. There’s nothing familiar about this place. He’s been homesick since he was thirteen years old. It’s been a long, long five years away.</p><p>“Where are they?” He demands. “Take me to visit them.”</p><p>Katara does look up from her stitching then. Her eyes are flashing, hard like jewels, and he can just see a rebuke building up in her. He doesn’t flinch away, used to her temper by now, and unwilling to be swayed on this.</p><p>“You want to see them? Fine. Let’s go.” She gets to her feet easily and immediately heads off in a direction he hasn’t seen anyone else go in yet. Scrambling ungracefully—spirits damned ice, will he <em>ever</em> be able to stand up without slipping?—he follows after her. Neither of them comment on the fact that Sokka doesn’t join them, having been pulled away by the oldest member of the tribe to babysit.</p><p>In fact, they don’t talk at all as they trudge through yet more ice and snow. Zuko’s head has cleared up a bit, the illness sliding away, but he’s still freezing. His breath of fire doesn’t help as much as he’d like, out here where it’s windy and there’s no bustle to add more protection from the cold. It takes forever to get there, and his whole face is numb by the end, but then he sees.</p><p>The Southern Water Tribe do lay their people to rest, literally. He stumbles closer to the line of bodies, surrounded by mounds of snow so high they’re as tall as him. Katara waves her hands and a lot of it, including the snow that covered the bodies, go flying away. He counts four that are covered by some sort of animal skin, but the rest… the rest are free to the air, and they’re all wearing red. There are seven of them, he thinks, seeing a few that are just bones. </p><p>A symbol catches his eye, and he stares at it for a long moment until it comes to him: the symbol of the Southern Raiders.</p><p>Katara stalks closer. “That one,” she says, pointing to the closest corpse, “that one killed my grandfather’s brother in front of his wife and children. And that one forced himself on elder Vokeye. And that one,” she spits, gesturing to a man with a gaping hole in his stomach, “killed my mother.”</p><p>Zuko is silent.</p><p>“They were all part of the raids. None of them just floated here, not like those,” she waves to the covered bodies, a few steps away, obviously treated with more respect. There’s a sharp pit in his stomach, and he doesn’t know how to react—to shout at her for leaving his citizens like this? To demand she stop talking? To look upon these men and <em>not</em> force the issue of a proper send off?</p><p>In the end, he asks, “Why aren’t they covered?” He doesn’t look at her.</p><p>“They don’t deserve it.”</p><p>“They’re human beings.” But his mind is turning to his own mother. He doesn’t know the face of her killer. Doesn’t even know if she’s dead. What would he do, if he knew those things? How would he feel if he knew the thief who stole her from him?</p><p>“They’re evil,” she says. Her voice is like the ice under their feet. “I killed him myself, you know. He wanted the last waterbender, and my mother lied to protect me. Said she was the last one. He murdered her right there, and I—I grabbed my father’s knife and I killed him.” </p><p>“When was this,” he asks.</p><p>He knows she’s 16 because she told him. He can’t tell how long these bodies have been here, but he hopes it hasn’t been a long time. Losing a mother young isn’t something he’d wish even on his worst enemy.</p><p>“Four years ago. What? Didn’t know your nation was still coming after us? Still killing us?”</p><p>“I—” No, actually. He hadn’t. He’d had no say in what the navies of the Fire Nation, much less the Southern Raiders, did. “This is—”</p><p>“He doesn’t deserve kindness or dignity, or respect or anything but <em>this</em>. Whatever you’re about to say, you can keep it to yourself.”</p><p>He shuts his mouth. Doesn’t ask what the other soldiers he sees did. Doesn’t say a prayer for their souls, or demand anything of Katara. Instead, he stands, and follows her back to the village.</p><p>That night, in the igloo he’s been told is actually Katara and Sokka’s home, <em>not</em> the healing place, he asks her, “If I die here, will I be laid beside them?” It makes him sick to think about. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s such a terrible way to be left, or because of what he knows about them. </p><p>Katara turns away from him. “I don’t know,” she answers, and he doesn’t push it.</p><hr/><p>He makes one escape attempt before realizing, standing in the little canoe which hasn’t left the ice yet, that he’s never going to make it. He’ll die out there, frozen and starving. It’s not worth it. Not a dignified end for a Prince. Uncle Iroh will truly never know what happened to him.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka says. He still sounds suspicious even if he has stopped following Zuko around, poking him with the spear whenever he wanted. He comes over, arms crossed and body language skeptical. “What are you doing?”</p><p>These people can’t afford another mouth to feed. None of them like him or want him around. They hate the Fire Nation (for good reason, he thinks, and doesn’t smother the thought immediately). He’s nothing but a reminder of death and destruction to them. But he’s selfish too—he doesn’t want to die alone on the ocean, doesn’t want to slowly waste away on a crummy canoe. </p><p>“Nothing,” he replies, and steps back onto the ice. He slips, and Sokka laughs, but offers a hand. “Where’s the—uh, I mean, where’s Kanna?” He’s pretty sure that’s their grandmother’s name. “I need to speak with her.”</p><p>“We’ll go together,” Sokka says, not out of kindness but out of protectiveness for his family. Zuko doesn’t comment on it, just accepts the company. Maybe it’ll be easier to speak to her if he’s there.</p><p>“Gran-Gran,” Sokka says once they’re back in the village, a few feet away from the elderly woman. “Zuko wants to talk to you.”</p><p>Zuko tries not to scowl at the way everyone turns to look at them, and bows slightly, Fire Nation style.</p><p>She eyes him like she already knows what he’s going to say. Inviting them both to sit with her, Zuko can’t help but take his nerves out on the fire, which blazes a little too high behind them.</p><p>“What is this about?”</p><p>He thinks about how, if he were home, he’d have to grovel. Some would appreciate a story, his feelings and thoughts laid bare. But he doesn’t think that’s the way he should go here, knows stories are personal to these people, important. He’s never seen any of them beg for forgiveness over anything.</p><p>What would Uncle say? He doesn’t have the time to think of some metaphor, but… Uncle was always talking about being proper. Doing the right, honorable thing. Zuko isn’t sure he knows the full extent of that, but he knows the first step at least.</p><p>“I’m not sure how long I’ll be st—be here, I mean,” Zuko says slowly, trying to feel out her reactions. Her face is impassive, mostly. There’s a twitch in her jaw and he doesn’t know if it’s a good sign or a bad one. “I appreciate very much the care I’ve received from your granddaughter, and from the village as a whole. If…,” he has to swallow down pride and anxiety and bile, “If there’s anything I could do in order to repay this kindness, I would be… most honored to do so.”</p><p>Amusement breaks out over her face briefly, a twinkle in her eye as she shares a look with Sokka. Then, soberly, she replies, “I see. You’re feeling better?”</p><p>“Yes, much,” he says with another bow of his head. It’s not quite a lie—the hypothermia symptoms are mostly gone. But there’s an encroaching, creeping headache growing in the back of his head, and he can’t stop seeing that Raider’s face, hearing Katara’s voice. It makes him feel faint, a hot-and-cold sensation under his skin. </p><p>“Well. Anyone who can work, works. You can start repaying us by helping out around the village.”</p><p>He’d expected as much. “I understand.”</p><p>“You two will go fishing in the morning, then.”</p><p>“Gran-Gran,” Sokka says, nearly a whine. “He’s probably terrible! He’ll scare away the fish. Not, uh, not because of the scar, I mean! But he probably has no idea how to do hunt, and I—”</p><p>Kanna shakes her head, once, and Sokka quiets immediately. “I won’t waste the opportunity having another young man around affords us, Sokka. You’ll teach him.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Sokka.”</p><p>“Yes, Gran-Gran.”</p><hr/><p>Zuko has to ask, even though it’s probably far too late at this point. “Do you want me to move out?”</p><p>Katara glances over at him. Her bed has moved closer to Sokka’s, but after a few months of living together (not to mention the days of taking care of him), she doesn’t shy away from him. “Where would you go?”</p><p>He shrugs. There’s not really a place for him, unless they made another igloo, which is just not feasible right now. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he replies, fidgeting uncomfortably himself. </p><p>“You don’t,” she says, running her brush through her hair again. “You’re fine here, Zuko. Unless… you want to leave?”</p><p>“No! No, I like it here,” and it’s mostly the truth. Of course, he would prefer to be home, warm and safe enough in the palace. Or on his ship, being annoyed by Uncle all the time. But it’s nice here, too, in certain ways. He’s gotten used to the cold. The kids don’t avoid him anymore, or cry at the sight of his face. “I didn’t mean—”</p><p>Katara smiles at him, an occurrence that’s becoming more common as time goes on. His chest warms pleasantly and it has nothing to do with his breath of fire. “It’s okay, I get it.”</p><p>She doesn’t add anything else, and for a few minutes, they’re quiet, listening to the voices from outside talk. Sokka is telling the children a fantastical bedtime story filled with hope and spirits and defeating the enemy at the end. The enemy is always the Fire Nation in these stories.</p><p>Wanting a distraction, he starts to say, “Do you—” at the same Katara also starts to speak. “You go first,” he says, not totally sure what he was going to ask anyway.</p><p>She shuffles closer, a hungry look on her face that he’s seen a few times, aimed at Kanna. “You’ve been around the world, haven’t you?” At his nod, she asks, “Will you tell me something about it?”</p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p>She doesn’t have to take a moment to think before replying, “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve been to?”</p><p>His first thought is of the turtle-duck pond at home. But he leans back on his furs and tries to think of something less personal. “It depends. The Earth Kingdom has mountains that make you feel small, and trees that turn all different colors in the fall. I’ve mostly seen the ports, though. Some towns are lively, and some are deserted, literally. I—”</p><p>“I meant, like, a specific place. But that does sound amazing.” She lets out a tiny, dreamy sigh.</p><p>“Oh….” He doesn’t want to tell her about the Air Temples yet, knowing how she feels about the Avatar. It’ll hurt to hear how empty and overgrown they’ve become. He’s never spent enough time in the Earth Kingdom to make more centralized impressions, which leaves nothing but the Fire Nation. Ember Island is an option, he knows, but… she wants something specific. A place he can describe by heart, he thinks. “There’s a pond in the gardens back home.”</p><p>She listens attentively as he describes it, the grass and the rocks, the shimmery warm water, the hatchlings and the protective mama birds. He tells her about the leaves floating on the surface, the plants at the bottom, and the way he’d never seen bread sink for long before it was eaten up. He tells her about his mom.</p><p>When he’s done, his eyes are wet, and they’re both quiet. She fiddles with the brush in her hands. “I wish I could see it,” she says eventually, and he’s glad she doesn’t say anything about Ursa. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it.</p><p>Zuko closes his eyes and he can picture her there, still in her parka and everything, gently petting the little turtle-ducks. “You’d like it there, I think. It’s peaceful.”</p><p>“Maybe someday,” she says, and they both understand without having to say it that the someday will never come. “What were you going to say? Earlier?”</p><p>Making it up on the spot, he replies, “I was going to ask if you wanted me to brush your hair for you.” There’s a lot of it, after all, and she always complains about tangles.<br/>She blushes, her cheeks deepening just enough to be noticeable. He’s gathered that hair braiding and styling is a bit more private, since she and Sokka always do each other’s hair up. Is brushing part of that too?</p><p>He’s just about to take it back—he’s so stupid, still saying the wrong thing even when he should know better—when she says, “Okay.”</p><p>He blinks. “Okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay.” She scoots closer, turning around so her back is to him, and hands him the brush. He only realizes then that he has no idea what he’s doing—okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration but he doesn’t want to hurt her, and will she feel uncomfortable if he touches her hair? If he moves it around? “It’s okay,” she laughs, though he can hear a hint of nerves in the words, can see it in her tense shoulders.</p><p>“Alright,” he says under his breath, and gently drags the bristles through her curls.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sokka finds them some time later, still sitting there, only this time, Katara’s the one telling a story. She’s smiling as she regales Zuko with tales from their childhood, her hands moving with the words. Zuko has a focused look on his face, attentively brushing and listening at the same time.</p><p>He should probably tell Zuko off for brushing her hair—it’s a family only thing, generally—but it’s been so long since Katara sounded like this, like some of the weight has fallen off her shoulders. Like she can breathe freely, without responsibility and grief crushing her chest.</p><p>Maybe he’ll just go see Gran-Gran, he thinks as he slips away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am considering writing more of this verse,, if that's something you'd be interested in let me know!</p><p>You can find me on tumblr at <a href="dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com">dottie-wan-kenobi</a></p><p>Thanks for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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